


Afraid

by NecroFaix



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angst, Comfort/Angst, Cyborgs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NecroFaix/pseuds/NecroFaix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a nasty accident, Dirk is left to struggle and cope with what he has left and the only one with the experience to help him is his own AI. But dealing with any loss of control isn't easy for Dirk and trusting himself is even more of a struggle. The road to recovery isn't exactly an easy one, but Dirk's never really been alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, yeah, guess who convinced me to do this again? A round of applause for tumblr user turntechdickbutt for coming up with this and editing for me. You all may remember the pain and suffering that was "The Unfortunate Side-Effects of Being Human". Just consider this "This Unfortunate Side-Effects of Being Robotic" as turntechdickbutt put it. 
> 
> You might be able to find updates about this story or just me whining about DirkHal and robots in general on my tumblr, which is turntechdickrider. Also I'm very, very sorry.

Everything hurts so badly. You don’t think you’ve ever experienced anything so painful in your life. It feels like you’re burning slowly from the inside out and though you struggle and try to make some noise, tell someone, anyone, to put out the fire, you can’t. Your limbs won’t obey you. You’re not even sure you’re fully conscious, to be honest, but the pain is blurring everything and you can’t see shit, so you don’t even know.

What’s the last thing you remember?

Nothing.

Nothing, you can remember nothing at all. There’s just fire and a vast expanse of blackness and it lasts for eternity to you. You’re pretty sure it’s literally forever. Forever pain and immobility and void.

This is probably hell.

Time really has no meaning to you but you know it right on the dot. It’s been seventy-four hours, thirty two minutes, and twelve seconds, the milliseconds counting up for too quickly for you to even bother with them or anything less. It feels like years to you, the concept of seventy-four hours is completely foreign and utterly useless.

At a few seconds over eighty-three hours, you realize you remember something.

You remember that your name is Dirk Strider. You remember a deafening sound coming from somewhere right next to you. You remember a bright flash of light and someone screaming your name.

When you finally open your eyes a few hours later, the burning has subsided into a strange, uncomfortable feeling that you can’t quite place, but it seems to run through every vein in your body. When you try to move pain shoots through you, hot and fast, startling a pained gasp from your lips and then there’s a pressure on one shoulder, pushing you down, and a face floating in front of you. Your face. You frown before realizing that it’s not actually your face.

You remember sculpting that face. You remember going through trial and error and trial and error to get the synthetic mixture just right and you remember carefully molding and crafting every rise and fall to match your own reflection, repeating and starting it over a thousand times before you were satisfied with it.

“Just take it easy Dirk, you’re okay.”

The voice seems far away and the words directly contradict the fear and concern written all over Hal’s face, not to mention whatever it is you’re feeling.

You don’t know much, but you do know you’re not okay.

You open your mouth to speak but the action is painful and when you actually accomplish it, nothing but a hoarse wheeze leaves your throat. You feel a warm hand brush over your cheek and through your hair, but the action is far from soothing to you. You’re in too much pain and if your AI is resorting to any sort of physical way to comfort you, something must be terribly, terribly wrong.

“Hey, hey I know, but just chill. Close your eyes. Breathe.”

Despite your uneasiness bordering on terror, you obey. When you’re not moving, you’re not in pain, you just feel oddly charged. Like a sweater filled with static electricity, only it feels like it’s inside you and you don’t really think eating a box of dryer sheets is the right way to go about getting rid of it, as tempting as the idea is. Speaking of eating, though, your stomach feels empty and hollow, only furthering your discomfort. But that’s the least of your worries.

Hal’s hand leaves your hair and you feel him touch the palm of your left hand.

“Try moving your fingers.”

You do. You don’t think anything happens. You try again, concentrating your confused mind on that single task alone. You manage to get your hand to close loosely around Hal’s and you hear him breathe out what sounds like an exhale of relief. The movement doesn’t hurt as much, it just feels sore.

“All right, now this hand.” You don’t feel his hand touching yours but you assume he’s talking about your right hand this time. You once again pour all your concentration into the movement, a bolt of pain shooting up your arm as you hear Hal hiss. “Fuck, open it, open it.” You do, your eyes sliding back open so you can shoot him a mildly annoyed and confused look. He’s shaking his hand like through the air like he just banged it on something. “Jesus shit, we’ll have to calibrate that.” You don’t know what he means by that and after a few more curses he turns his attention back to you, lips pulled down into a displeased frown. “Feeling okay? Try not to talk, just nod or shake your head.”

The more you’re awake the more coherent you feel, so you nod once, the motion making your head throb pretty bad but it’s nothing too unbearable.

Hal hesitates before his next question. “Do you. Remember what happened?”

You have to think about this question. You remember a lot of things. Like making his face. You remember talking to Roxy about maybe doing a group cam call with everyone later in the week. You remember when you first taught yourself how to fish, and when you first learned to sew so you could patch up your clothes, you remember the green, googly-eyed smuppet you made last week that you affectionately nicknamed Mr. Rumpus Fucker, and you remember a swarm of red, bug-like bots blocking out the sun.

Oh.

Yeah, that’s right, you were attacked by Imperial Drones.

No wonder you feel like shit, those fuckers just kept coming and they didn’t stop. You’re pretty amazed you even managed to survive but here you are.  


How did you even make it out of there? You don’t remember destroying all the drones, you don’t remember any feeling of triumph as you skewed the last one on your katana, and you don’t remember standing on the rooftop surrounded by burning robot parts. You do remember being trapped, being boxed in on all sides by towering drones and you remember hacking your way through them. You remember Hal fighting right next to you and you remember Sawtooth above, locked in his own aerial battle that involved missiles and rockets.

You remember a scream. You remember something loud, so loud your ears rang and the sounds of fighting ceased being a thing. You remember a bright flash of light and the sensation of being thrown off your feet.

Hal waits patiently as you try to work through everything, while you frown and search your memory.

You’re pretty sure the scream was him, trying to warn you about something. Right. You remember glancing down and seeing it, the small, innocent looking metal ball rolling towards you, coming to a stop right by your foot before all hell broke loose.

A bomb.

You’re not entirely sure what your expression looks like to Hal, probably a mix of horrified, scared, and confused. If it was a bomb there’s no way you could have survived something like that, people get limbs blown off from shit like that at the very least. You know, you’ve watched the old World War documentaries online.

Then it sort of dawns on you, a frightening revelation that leaves you feeling cold all over.

You must have squeezed Hal’s hand earlier, but you don’t remember feeling his hand on yours, you didn’t feel your fingers touching your palm, and though you can feel the limb is still there, you can’t feel the bed you’re lying on against your whole right arm. It’s not just your arm. Your left leg is like that, trailing halfway up your side.

You panic and instinctively try to sit up, but the movement hurts too much and Hal is right there to push you down, mouth moving as if he’s saying something but you can’t hear him. You can’t breathe. Something isn’t right, something’s horribly wrong and you need know right this instant so you fight him and struggle. You manage to get one good shove in and prop yourself up halfway before he has time to recover. He’s back to trying to push you down but by then it’s a little too late.

You had seen the complex patchwork of cogs, wires, hydraulics, and open machinery your arm had become and the pain means nothing to you. You are a beast running on pure panic and adrenaline. Hal tries to forcefully shove you back into the bed and you know damn well he can kick your ass in a strife but you’ve never been like this before. When you shove him back you shove him hard enough that he hits the floor and you’re up before he has time to stop you. You stumble, your body not quite working in sync but you make it to the door and after crushing the knob in your right hand you pull it open—or off the hinges completely, you’re not entirely sure.

Luckily the bathroom door is already open and just a few steps down the hall. You have to lean against the wall to get there and you fall against the sink before you can prop yourself up and actually look in the mirror.

You’re vaguely aware of Hal pausing in the doorway.

You’re far more aware of the metal plates bolted over the right side of your head, ending right above your ear, which has the top part of it missing. One whole quarter of your head is metal plating and you reach up to cautiously touch it with your left hand, your normal hand, and sure enough it’s all cold, hard steel.  
   
Numbly, you take a little step back, almost falling and Hal flinches as if he’s going to catch you before you right yourself, and you look down at what’s become of your body. Your right hand and all the way up your arm and shoulder is nothing but uncovered metal. It’s mostly intricate parts, bars and hydraulics and joints all for movement and in places you can see right through it. Your left leg is the same thing until past your hip joint, metal strips and plates wrapping all the way around your side that stop just before your belly button, up to right under your chest.  
   
It’s neat and clean, where skin becomes metal and metal becomes skin.  
   
The numb feeling fades pretty quick and then you’re bent over the sink, dry heaving since you had nothing in your stomach to throw up, the world spinning around you in a daze while you feel horribly, horribly sick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which doesn't do very well at coping with his new life and the though of potentially giving someone else access to his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turntechdickbutt was very nice to edit this chapter and also put in the HTML. What a doll. 
> 
> Oh and yeah, look, this chapter came within a timely manner. How about that.

\-- golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
   
GT: Dirk?  
GT: Strider cmon were getting worried over here!!  
GT: At least let us know youre alive...  
TT: He's alive, chill your fucking jets, English.  
GT: ...  
GT: Somehow that holds very little comfort coming from the likes of YOU.  
TT: Rude.  
TT: But then again, this is you speaking, it's only to be expected.  
TT: Trust me, Dirk's going to live. He's just a little banged up, not quite in any condition to get online.  
GT: And let me guess mr ar youre still not giving away any details on his accident or recovery process?  
TT: Nope.  
TT: Sorry man, confidential information.  
TT: Need to have a clearance level 12 or above.  
TT: In case you're wondering, you haven't even reached one yet.  
GT: I smell foul play.  
TT: Oh?  
TT: Take a shower, then.  
GT: Har har har.  
GT: How do we know you havent done something to dirk?  
GT: You wont give us any details. Youre being awfully shady if i do say so myself!  
TT:   
TT: Shady, you say?  
TT: In all seriousness, I didn't do shit.  
TT: You'll just have to trust me on this, Jake.  
TT: I'm not going to hurt Dirk.  
TT: He's in safe hands, I'm doing the best I can.  
TT: When he feels up for it, I'll get you guys on webcam so you can see that he's alive and in good condition.  
TT: Now if you'll excuse me, your abundant lack of faith has insulted my fragile robo-feelings.  
TT: And if I remember, you have a shower to take.  
   
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--

* * *

   
The couch dips a bit and suddenly there's a plate of food under your nose.  
   
It comes from nowhere to you and you jerk back a bit before shooting Hal a pretty venomous look, but it's your fault for spacing out and not paying attention to your surroundings. Doesn't at all stop you from blaming him even if you fully realize how unfair it is. He's worried about you. You don't want him to be.  
   
The smell of cooked fish makes your stomach turn and you push the plate he's handing you back towards him. "I'm not hungry."  
   
He doesn't even bother to hide the annoyance that crosses his synthetic face, his red eyes rolling. "Dirk, it's been three days since you woke up and you've done nothing but sit on the couch and sleep. You're human, you obtuse dick, and in case you fail to remember what exactly that entails, it means you need sustenance."  
   
Hal looks and sounds almost identical to you, exactly as you created him to be. It took years to get the design right, to make him look as human and be functional as possible. Neither of you would have been satisfied with anything less. You sculpted every inch of his body around his metal frame, you soldered every wire, every sensor, every little piece of him into place. He worked on the programs that would make his new life easier, things that helped with balance and the new influx of sensory details that he had never experienced before. There were several problems at first, like anything else, and kinks that you two managed to work out, but the final model was absolutely perfect. A near carbon-looking copy of you, with some slight differences. He didn't have your freckles, scars, moles, or blemishes. You made his eyes red, a stylistic choice to separate the two of you, but the irises are eerie, looking more like camera lenses, and if you watch them closely you can see how they zoom in and out to focus. There's no way you could find a way for his body to retain or create liquids, so he doesn't. No sweat, no saliva, no urine or tears. Most of the time Hal goes without the shades you usually have on your face and he typically doesn't feel the need for clothes, feeling his bodysuit is ample.  
   
Now there are further differences between you two, appearance-wise. You flex the metal fingers on your right hand, listening the hiss of hydraulics and grind of gears.  
   
"I'll eat later."  
   
You turn to the TV, which has been off for the past three days but you stare at the blank screen anyway, barely catching your reflection in the surface as Hal sighs. You feel his eyes on you but he doesn't push the food again.  
   
Instead he brings up something else.  
   
"The others have been messaging," he tells you, voice a little too casual. "They want updates on how you're doing. Getting pretty damn impatient, actually. I was hoping you could let them know you're okay." You start shaking your head. "Dirk, c'mon. They're worried about you. I haven't been giving them any details and Jake is starting to think I went rogue and strangled you in your sleep."  
   
You specifically told him not to give details.  
   
After first waking up and realizing what happened, you must have passed back out. When you woke up again, feeling sick but significantly calmer, Hal filled you in on everything. The damage was a lot more extensive than you realized in your initial panic.  
   
Apparently, Hal had done a lot of patchwork. You had a variety of scars littering your body, deeper and thicker than the small scratches you've gotten during strifes. The largest one wraps around the inner thigh of your still flesh-and-blood leg, trailing up your stomach and down your side, making you think that you almost lost that leg too. You didn't ask for details about it. Brain damage had been extensive though, but not enough to completely kill you. You were still functional enough that he found you breathing and now you have hardware in your head, controlling various bodily functions as well your robotic limbs.  
   
The thought of talking to your friends and explaining all of this makes you feel like hurling. You shake your head again. "Later."  
   
That doesn't placate Hal and he makes a disgruntled noise. "Not later, Dirk. If you don't tell them, I will."  
   
You shoot him another glare. "You better fucking not."  
   
"They're worried and I'm not going to become the bad guy here because you don't have the common fucking decency to at least give them details on your condition. You tell them, or I will."  
   
God you hate him. You hate letting him win even more so you exhale slowly and mutter, "Next week."  
   
You're not fully giving into him, but it's enough that he nods, not looking pleased but at least satisfied that you now have a time frame. The one thing he's not satisfied about is the plate of food in his hands, which he holds out again, imploringly.  
   
"No."  
   
Your constant dismissal is annoying him but you really don't give a shit. Your stomach is too twisted up for you to eat and you're honestly not hungry. He pushes the plate closer only for you to push it away and then suddenly his free hand is gripping your chin, his face right in front of yours with a no-bullshit look to it.  
   
"Dirk fucking Strider, you need to eat and so help me I will cram this fish down your goddamn throat if you don't cut the shit. The last time you ate was before the attack, it's been over a week. I need not go through all the trouble of saving your sorry ass only to have you starve yourself, do you understand me?"  
   
With a growl you try to yank your head back but he's a lot stronger than you and it takes you using your robotic arm to pry his fingers from your chin so you can jerk your face back. There's a tense moment where you two glare at each other, lips drawn into thin lines. It's a showdown and you really do hate losing to him, but only half of your body is metal where his is completely. You've never won a strife against him and if it came down to it, you know he could pin you and make good on his promise.  
   
You sneer and snatch the plate from him, resting it on your lap. Without thinking you go to grab the fork, only to pause at the screeching sound of twisting metal. You glance down to see the fork twisted up and folded between the fingers of your right hand, because like a dumbass you used your robotic arm and completely destroyed the silverware.  
   
You're really tempted to pry the fork from your hand and chuck it at Hal's fucking face, but he takes it instead, calmly, his fingers working effortlessly to straighten it back out.  
   
Meanwhile, you just pinch off a bit of the fish with your left hand and pop it into your mouth. It tastes like ash and when you swallow it, it sits heavy in your stomach.  
   
"I need to work on your pressure exertion." You glance sideways at Hal as he speaks. "Y'know, since you're having problems with that."  
   
"I ripped a door off its hinges," you mutter around another bite of fish. It makes your stomach upset. "I think that's a little more than a problem."  
   
He rolls his eyes at you. "Problem or whatever you want to call it, we'll fix it after you eat. I'll just plug you in, code a few things, and you'll be right as rain—"  
   
"Plug me in?" Third bite of fish and you're done, shoving the plate back at him.  
   
This time he takes it without complaint, frowning at your tone. "Yeah, plug you in. The hardware in your head is all coded, in order to add to it I would have to plug you into the computer and open up your programming."  
   
"Then we're not doing it." Your voice is sharp.  
   
Once again, he looks pretty unhappy with your decision on the matter, but this time it's more of an exasperated type of irritation. "And why not?"  
   
"Because, the last thing I want is you fucking around in my head. It's bad enough you were the one coding everything in the first place, I'm not going have you go in and fuck around with what's already there." He stares at you for a brief moment and you're sure he's going to argue. But in the end he raises his free hand up in surrender, standing from couch.  
   
"All right, bro. Whatever you say. We'll talk about this later."  
   
He walks off, leaving you alone until later that evening when he brings you dinner. By some miracle you manage to keep your original three bites of fish down. You don't have the same luck with the four bites of your dinner. The seagulls feast on your leftovers and later that night you're bent over the toilet, Hal right next to you, blotting your forehead with a cold, wet washcloth. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk really isn't as cool with this as he would like everyone to believe. Also it seems like Hal has a shady little secret he's keeping from his creator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to the awesome turntechdickbutt for making sure everything in this chapter was accurate in terms of panic attacks and the such. It's all different for different people, but I still like to know it's somewhat feasible, y'know? Definite trigger warning if you problems with panic attacks and really bad anxiety, probably dysphoria too and mild gore. In fact, those are probably going to be the trigger warnings on this whole entire story, so just a heads up if you have issues with that.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
   
TG: haaal  
TG: hal my robo bubby  
TG: *buddy  
TG: hey whear are u  
TG: you were suposed to txt me last nite  
TT: Sorry, Dirk was sick. I didn't want to let anything potentially distract me from making sure he was okay.  
TG: :(  
TG: still not doin good?  
TT: No. Not at all.  
TT: Besides the first panic attack he hasn't had another one, but I've been keeping that flash drive close at hand just in case.  
TT: Thanks again for that. It was a life saver, probably literally.  
TG: i thnk we both knew he wanst going to takethis well  
TG: hopfuly you wont need it again  
TG: *hopefully  
TG: im too upset to even find hopfully funny  
TT: Laugh about it later, it's too good of an opportunity to pass up.  
TT: You hopping around saying that I won't need again.  
TT: I hope I don't either.  
TT: Dirk's making it pretty clear he doesn't trust me, especially when it comes to matters of his programming.  
TG: what, he thinks u'll scew it up??  
TT: On purpose, yeah.  
TT: I can't even imagine how pissed he'll be if he knew about this.  
TG: hell be po'd at me not u  
TT: If he finds out, I'm leaving your name out of it.  
TT: As far as he knows, you don't even know what happened and I plan on keeping it that way.  
TT: Plus he'll always blame everything on me, I'm pretty much his scapegoat so he doesn't have to get pissed at his friends and feel guilty later.  
TT: Don't worry about it.  
TG: ......if you say so hal  
TG: :(  
TG: how bad does he lok  
TG: *look  
TT: I didn't do a bad job.  
TT: To be honest, it really doesn't look too bad.  
TT: Just. Different.  
TG: whn will we get to see him??  
TT: According to him, sometime in the next week.  
TT: I'll keep you updated, I promise.  
TG: u better  
TG: <3  
TT: <3  
   
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
 

* * *

   
You've been preparing yourself for four hours now. Four hours of staring in the bathroom mirror, attempting to fix your hair mostly. You tried spiking it up like your usual anime-esque style only to realize that having half a head of hair made the style look, quite frankly, ridiculous. Not that it didn't look slightly silly before but this is a whole different level. For a while you worked on maybe sweeping it to the side in a casual attempt to cover the metal plating over half your head, but you really had no interest in looking like an old banker with a shitty combover.  
   
The time not devoted to your hair was time spent adjusting your outfit. Your shirt didn't fit right over the mechanical arm and you didn't like the way your jeans slid down on your metal plated hip.  
   
Nothing is working right.  
   
You're so fucking frustrated and you feel like your breakfast is going to come up the longer you have to stare at your butchered reflection, but for the past few days you've been managing to keep food down and you really don't want to break your outstanding record.  
   
You sweep your hair to the side again, frowning, and then brushing it back over where it hangs limply against the side of your head. Then you pause, leaning closer to the mirror so you can study your reflection.  
   
You suppose, given what happened, Hal did a very good job with his work. He had a very limited timeframe and worked quickly to save your pathetic human life. But it's still a rough job. The metal isn't exactly even, there are divots and seams where different plates were fitted together. Small bolts hold everything in place and the more you stare the more you can almost imagine it. Your wreck of a body, bloodied and broken, barely breathing. Your head must have been opened up already from the explosion. He said there was minimal brain damage but any damage that has your head split open isn't a pleasant thing to visualize.  
   
Did your heart stop? Did he have to restart it for you as he patched up your brain?  
   
You can almost see him meticulously attaching wires and hardware to your brain in an attempt to get connections to work again. You can just see yourself attached to a computer while he programs vital codes to restart your fragile body. You can see your white face, attached to cords and bloodied with your head open while he works, breathing shallow, unknowing what Hal's doing, what he's coding, he could be writing anything and you would never know...  
   
Your breathing is short as you stare at the metal plates, you can see the blood staining the metal, where the plates would open up to allow him access, you can see your brain opened up and laid there for everyone to see and poke at and manipulate. You can see—  
   
Your reflection disappears.  
   
For a second you're not entirely sure what happened, but you're staring at a blank wall and you human hand throbs. Suddenly Hal is at your side, he almost looks scared as he leads you over to the toilet, forcing you to sit down. You feel numb while he curses and wraps a towel around your hand. You look down blankly, noticing the white fabric seep through with red. You don't realize you punched out the mirror until you glance over and see the shards in the sink, a few pieces still hanging from the metal clips that once held it in place.  
   
Hal carefully squeezes your hand, repeating something that you just now tune into.  
   
"Dirk? Earth to Dirk, are you okay?"  
   
Oh. You nod, pulling your hand back from his grasp. "Yeah, sorry. I don't know what happened."  
   
He doesn't look too happy as he leans over and digs under the sink for a first aid kit. "I'll tell you what happened, you fucking destroyed the bathroom mirror and wrecked your hand. Should I hide reflective surfaces from you now?" He sounds annoyed and you don't answer him as he works on bandaging up your hand. It's all superficial cuts and you're more aggravated with yourself than you care to admit.  
   
Why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to punch the bathroom mirror? What the hell is wrong with you? When did you become the type of person to totally trash something that's nearly irreplaceable given your current circumstances? You're lucky that there are other slabs of mirrors lying around in your work room.  
   
"Maybe we should cancel the video call."  
   
Hal's voice is soft, the suggestion obviously meant as something to comfort you. Too bad the exact opposite. You stand up, barely letting him finish dressing your hand before you push past him with a muttered, "Let's get this over with."  
   
You're not going to push off this whole show just because you had a minor slip up and Hal's sudden willingness to put it off when before he was so firm on you talking to everyone is nothing but infuriating to you. So you stalk into your room, force yourself to sit down stiffly at your computer chair, and pull up Pesterchum. Everyone's online and you spend a second shifting your camera angle before it rests on your face just right. Then you start up a group video chat with everyone, waiting as one by one, they accept and their blank screens flicker to life with faces.  
   
Jake, Jane, and Roxy.  
   
There's a collective moment of silence where no one says a goddamn word. They just take in your appearance, searching you face until they finally work up the courage to stare openly at the metal cover a quarter of your head. The shock isn't easy for them to hide. They actually do a pretty fucking horrible job at it.  
   
Jake's the first one to speak.  
   
"Reminds me of the Terminator."  
   
You don't really appreciate the comment too much, but it does a lot to relieve the tension that built up during the silence. Jake hesitantly grins, then Jane offers you a smile and Roxy forces a somewhat convincing laugh.  
   
"Oh my God he's right! Dirky, Dirky, do an Arnold impersonation!"  
   
Okay, maybe the comment was a little appreciated because Jane's giggling and Roxy's all excited as you do your best Schwarzenegger "I'll be back" voice. You thrown in a couple quotes from his time as governor, and hell, that little bit of humor has you feeling so much better about shit.  
   
Then Jane asks the million dollar question. "So, is that fancy head piece the only damage, Mr. Strider?"  
   
Some of the tension seeps back into the group and you try to act as nonchalant as possible. "Nah, check this out." You're nervous but fuck, you've got a great poker face. You're sure the only person that can see through it is Roxy. But regardless of your twisting gut, you push your chair and stand up. You have to step back several paces for them to see the full damage and even then your clothes are covering most of your new mechanical parts. Your arm is in full view and once again, they're silently taking in your wounds with widened eyes. The shock turns to almost horror as you raise your shirt, showing off the metal on your sides and with your metal foot sticking out from the bottom of your pants, you're sure they can piece everything together for the full effect.  
   
You almost don't want to see their reactions, but you force your eyes to the screen. Jane's covering her mouth, Jake looks absolutely terrified and for a brief second you can see Roxy tearing up before she pushes away from the computer, the only one who probably understands the full extent of the damage and the reality that it might, at some point, happen to her.  
   
The other two are probably trying to imagine what could cause such damage. You could almost see what they picture, you without the steel and metal cogs. Missing a leg, missing an arm, part of your head.  
   
Are they picturing what your brain would look like without the metal covering it?  
   
Suddenly you feel sick. Too sick. You can't deal with this, with their looks and their fear and Roxy's tears. You really can't deal with Roxy's tears, picturing her scared and alone somewhere in her room, picturing you dead or her in your place.  
   
You pivot on your human foot and lurch from the room, vision blurred. You don't make it too far because for some reason your body doesn't want to work in unison, nothing wants to move the way you direct it and your chest is tight. You feel like someone wrapped a rubber band around your torso, restricting your breath. You can't breathe, you can't breathe and you feel like you're going to puke up your guts but your legs don't want to take you towards the bathroom. Instead you stop halfway, gasping and trying desperate to draw in air. Your legs fall out from under you and you're on the floor in the hall, panicking because you can't breathe and you feel like you're dying.  
   
Oh God you're dying.  
   
You're going to fucking suffocate in the hall and all you can picture is the fucking plate on your head, gaping open. That's what they were picturing, you know it.  
   
By the time you gag and bring up your breakfast, Hal is at your side, his lips moving but his voice not reaching your eyes for several seconds. It's like there's a delay—his mouth moves, shapes the words and then you hear, "Dirk! Dirk, breathe! Just calm down, deep breaths, c'mon deep breaths. In. Out."  
   
He sounds calm. You're not calm as you choke and try to tell him that you can't, you physically can't breathe, nothing is working how the fuck can he be so calm while you're dying. It starts feeling hot, and you feel like you're burning from the inside with just adds to your absolute terror. He gently pushes you back so you're lying against the wall. You hear the sound of metal on metal right in your ear as you claw at your throat, trying to get it to work.  
   
Then there's a click and your whole world goes dark. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk realizes that something isn't entirely right and boy is he right. And fucking pissed. Even though Hal swears he has Dirk's best intention in mind, is there room for suspicion?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo, so as per usual thank you for the awesome beta! I would say it was turntechdickbutt but the URL changed and now it's lhug-dern. I, on the other hand, am still turntechdickrider because no way am I getting rid of the URL, you'll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands. Anyway, here you all go.

\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

GG: Dirk, I am so sorry!  
GG: I'm not sure if it's something we did or what happened, but please let us know you're okay!  
GG: We're worried sick.  
GG: It was shocking but it doesn't look too bad.  
GG: Gosh, that probably makes it worse...  
GG: At least let us know you're not mad at us or anything, please.  
TT: Hey.  
GG: Oh. Hal. He's not mad, is he?  
TT: What? No, no, no!  
TT: Sorry about him bolting like that, but it definitely wasn't you guys.  
TT: He's pretty sick right now.  
TT: All that machinery is a strain on his body, he's not quite up to strength yet.  
GG: If he wasn't feeling up for it he shouldn't have tried to video chat with us!  
GG: He has us all awfully worried. He needs to be resting!  
TT: I have him lying down now, no worries.  
TT: It's mostly my fault, I pressured him into it when he wasn't ready.  
TT: It might be a while before he messages anyone again, I'm not going to let him unless he's totally up for it.  
GG: Good!  
GG: We can wait, I would rather he not strain himself so much.  
GG: Just please keep us updated this time, Hal.  
TT: No problem.  
TT: I wasn't entirely sure what to tell you guys and I was worried how you all would react, especially with Jake's attitude toward me.  
TT: Last thing I wanted was him thinking I caused this shit.  
GG: Is that why you haven't answered his messages?  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: Would you mind relaying the info that Dirk's AOK?  
GG: No problem.  
GG: Thank you for looking after Dirk.  
GG: He's lucky to have you.  
TT: I know, where the fuck would that loser be without me?  
TT: Honestly, I'm at least 82% sure I'm the only thing holding Dirk together most of the time.  
TT: He should really give me more credit.  
GG: He should!  
GG: Oh drat, I'm sorry, I have to dash.  
GG: Lil' Seb has gotten himself into trouble and I'm pretty sure my dad is trying to bake him inside a cake!  
 

\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
 

TT: Huh.  
TT: Just make sure he's not baking the little rascal at anything above 420.  
TT: Seb isn't good at blazing.  
TT: Yeah, you probably wouldn't get that joke.  
TT: Little private schoolgirl and all.

\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
 

GG: Hal!  
GG: I know a weed joke when I see one. :B  
TT: Oh snap.  
 

* * *

   
You dream of circuits.  
   
Miles of silicone and circuits cut into some small card that seems like the size of a world to you. You're walking along the golden paths, watching the spark of information light up under you then zip by at the speed of light. It's not really under you though. You're not real, you don't have a physical form; you're just there, watching the information brush by you in a burst of codes and binary.  
   
You can't see the information, but you know. It's like an innate knowledge of exactly what is passing through your incorporeal form.  
   
It's all about you.  
   
Conversations and words about you, everything from insults to compliments, but every word is in reference to you, people you don't even know talking about you like you're not there, like you don't know every single word they say about you.  
   
When you wake up, you're disoriented and your dream is forgotten. Your room doesn't feel like your room, nothing feels quite right. It's like someone moved everything a few centimeters to the left, just enough that it's not noticeable but it throws you off, makes everything feel unfamiliar. Your head hurts, your gut is twisted into anxious knots, but that's so normal that you hardly even notice the sick feeling. It's just a part of your life.  
   
The disorientation trips you out, though.  
   
You work on sitting up, your head spinning, and everything in your room looks exactly the same. Nothing is touched, not a wire out of place, and you relax a bit.  
   
You don't really remember going to bed last night. When you think back, trying to work out how you got into your room, you draw a pretty large blank that unnerves you. You think back to waking up yesterday morning, eating breakfast, right up to when you were getting ready to chat with everyone online. Did you?  
   
Yes. You did.  
   
You remember Roxy crying.  
   
What happened after that is foggy at best. You can hardly remember punching the bathroom mirror, let alone the panic you felt when you bolted from your computer. You had felt like you were dying. Obviously you didn't. You're still here.  
   
You can't imagine just calmly sliding into bed after ditching your friends like that. How the fuck did you get here and sleep?  
   
The door to your room opens and you glance over to see Hal pushing it open, a tray of food balanced in his hands. The smell makes you want to heave and you really don't think you'll be doing much eating. But that's nothing new now.  
   
"Look who's finally up. Sleep well?"  
   
You shake your head and sit up a bit more firmly against the wall. You don't feel rested at all. You feel like someone forcibly knocked you out.  
   
That thought sparks something and you frown as Hal approaches with your breakfast. You vaguely remember freaking out after talking with everyone, you remember not being able to breathe—you don't remember anything after that.  
   
There had been a click, like someone had pressed a button, but more metallic. You remember the sound of metal on metal and now you're suspicious as Hal sets the food down on a clear portion of your desk.  
   
"What did you do?"  
   
"What?" Hal glances at you, looking cautious. Guilty.  
   
The sick feeling twists at your stomach some more as you realize you're on the right track. He did something. "What did you do?" You're more demanding this time as you sling your legs over your bed and stand up, pissed. "What the fuck did you do, Hal? What happened yesterday? How did I get in bed?"  
   
He's quick to take a step back, tense. "Bro, cool it. It's no big deal."  
   
"It's a really big fucking deal! What did you do?!" You're yelling now and Hal holds up both hands defensively.  
   
"You were panicking, Dirk. I had to do something, your hardware is directly tied in with your emotions. If you get too worked up you might short something and that would be—"  
   
"I'm getting pretty damn worked up now, Hal, you better tell me what you fucking did."  
   
He keeps one hand up like you have guns trained on him, the other reaching back slowly to pop open the nearly seamless hatch he has built into the back of his neck, specifically made to hide ports and plug-ins for his updates. It's a small space, there's no way he can hold much back there, but it's the right size for the small flash drive he pulls out and holds up for you to see.  
   
"What is that?"  
   
"Just some programs that tap into your neural receptors and override a few things," he explains cautiously. "Triggers endorphins, dopamine mainly, and shuts off a few things so you sleep."  
   
You're pissed. You're so pissed you're positively shaking as you yell at him. "You're electronically drugging me!"  
   
He doesn't deny it. "You need it. I couldn't calm you down and I'm not going to fucking sit there while you short yourself out and kill yourself. Consider it like a medication—when things get too much for you to handle, this helps out. Use as needed. An inhaler, if you will, for your mental asthma."  
   
"I don't have asthma you fucking asshole! You're fucking drugging me and you're trying to justify it with your bullshit reasons, I can't even believe you! I knew you were fucking around with shit, but I never thought you were going as far as drugging me! What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you ever think that's a good idea, there's no justification for it!" You're ranting and you stop to take in a breath, preparing to spew more profanities at him, but he cuts in quickly.  
   
"Dude, chill. Just calm down, I've only used it twice now and only when it's absolutely necessary, I'm not going around drugging you whenever it pleases me. Just relax a second."  
   
"Stop telling me to relax!" You thrust a shaking hand out toward him, glaring daggers. "Give me the flash drive." This absolutely unacceptable from him. You're seriously contemplating taking this as a sign that he needs to be shut down, and the thought roots itself in your head. In the end you know you wouldn't do it but you're so pissed, and more than that, you're terrified. If he has the power to do this to you, who else could? The thought has you trembling in front of him and you feel like you're on the verge of another breakdown, your chest tightening painfully as the thought repeats over and over in your head. He's been drugging you. Someone else could. It would be easy. You're vulnerable. "Give me the fucking flash drive!"  You regret creating Hal.  
   
You regret making him his own body, you regret that he's quicker and stronger than you are. Even if you flashstep you can barely match his speed and before you know it he's on you. It's so quick that you hardly blink before you find yourself bent over your bed, an arm wrenched painfully behind your back and a hard body pressed against yours. There's the sound of metal on metal, not something you hear so much as feel in your bones and you can just imagine him opening some metal hatch in your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth gritted at the painful sensation of your human arm being pulled and twisted too tightly. You wait for the sudden nothingness that you now know accompanies his cyber-drugs but for several seconds it doesn't come, and then Hal speaks, low and calm in your ear.   "Dirk, you need to calm down. I'm not going to use this unless I have to. Both times you've been inconsolable and I've done it to save your life. Calm down and think about this rationally."   You hate his calm tone, you hate his strength, you hate him, and you hate yourself.  
   
"Let. Go. Of me," you hiss out, attempting to push yourself up with your significantly stronger, robotic limb, but Hal is all metal and your measly little arm does jack shit against all the steel and strength you've stupidly packed into him.  
   
"Calm down and I'll let go of you." He's right in your ear and you picture how he would have the flashdrive posed over the port in your head. You shudder, and he doesn't miss the action. "Dirk. It seems you're forgetting that I'm here strictly for your well-being. I know you're flipping your ever-loving shit right now but I'm not going to use this unless I have to. Unless your life is in danger. Calm down, and I'll let go of you."   You don't like giving him the satisfaction of pushing you around but at the moment you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or a bed and a hard place, technically. After a brief pause you suck in a deep breath, exhale slowly. Again. When you speak, your voice is even and deadpan.  
   
"I'll calm down but you have to give me that flash drive, Hal."  
   
Compromise. You don't want to compromise, but even more than that you don't want him with so much power over you. There's a few seconds as he contemplates the offer. You're almost sure he's going to decline. Why would he give up that upper hand. But to your surprise, you feel his body shift as he nods.  
   
"All right. I'll give it to you."  
   
Just hearing that has you sagging with relief and he cautiously lets go of you, taking a step back so you can reorient yourself. You spend a second straightening up, keeping your movements slow so you don't seem as agitated as you feel. Control. You're in control of this situation. You can take the time to slowly stretch out the cramped muscles in your arm and you can control your breathing to something a little steadier. It's just a matter of piecing your poker face back together and you can totally do that. When you're calm, you turn back to Hal and hold out your hand.   He hesitates only a second before pressing the flash drive into your palm and you tightly wrap your hand around it when he lets go. You want to crush the damn thing. To throw it into the ocean, to utterly destroy this new weakness of yours. You exhale slowly.  
   
"Get the fuck out of my room."  
   
With a single nod, Hal turns on his heel and walks out, shutting the door behind him and leaving you dismantle your fear in private. 


End file.
